


Lost Sheep

by Ronny_Lyle



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Darkest Timeline, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronny_Lyle/pseuds/Ronny_Lyle
Summary: In an alternate timeline, Ainsley tries to hide her dark thoughts and fantasies while maintaining a secret love with Dani. Malcolm bears the weight of his sister's secrets along with threats his wife, Edrisa, is facing. Meanwhile, the odd case of a missing person grows stranger with every piece of gruesome information that shows up on the NYPD's doorstep.
Relationships: Dani Powell & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Edrisa Tanaka
Kudos: 14





	1. Between the Butcher, the Stylist, and the Graffiti Artist.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to the show's rightful owners. I improvised this as I went, so I apologize for any errors. I hope you enjoy! I'm more than happy to discuss anything about the show or the fic in the comments.

Ainsley traced the lines on Dani’s palms and smiled sweetly at the other woman, wondering what it would be like to close her hands around the other woman's throat.

It started with a look from Dani's playfully intense eyes, and ended with a kiss that was too sweet to bear. Now, lying in bed with her (at Dani’s apartment, of course. She couldn’t risk Jessica walking in), all she wanted to do was strangle the other girl. To see the pain in her eyes as the life drained from her pretty little face. 

“Coffee?” Dani smiled sweetly, and perked up. She was out of bed before Ainsley even gave an answer.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Dani crossed from her bed to her kitchen in just a few feet. She was insecure about her one room apartment, but would never let on to her girlfriend. Ainsley, on the other hand, was oblivious. While Dani reached for the coffee pot with sharp irritation, Ainsley searched the bed for her belongings. 

She found the white dress she had slipped on the previous night, when she had showed up at Dani’s door feeling like a million bucks. She found her little black purse under the bed, and slipped out her phone. She had twenty-four new messages.

“Huh,” she unlocked her phone. “I would’ve expected more.”

“What Baby?” Dani called softly, with a forced-sweetness that Ainsley was too distracted to pick up on.

“Oh, nothing.” 

Eight missed calls from her father. Seven from her mother, and two from her brother.

Ainsley also received the following text messages:

**Mom, 10:16pm** : Ainsley Whitley - where in God’s name are you??? I need your help!

**Mom, 10:27pm** : I need you before tomorrow at 9am. The sooner the better!

**Mom, 10:30** : 9-1-1!!!!!

**Mom, 11:02pm** : Are you upset? Have you heard from your brother?? Has your father reached out??? I’ll kill that bastard!

**Malcolm, 10:42pm** : Hey Ains, we need to talk. Can you meet me by Sal’s now?

**Malcolm, 10:50pm** : Please, Ainsley.

**Malcolm, 11:22** : Fine, how about tomorrow morning at 9?

Ainsley looked at the time. It was 11:46.

She slipped the dress over her head, and struggled to pull it down her body. The material was tight, and thin, and made her feel less sexy now and more restricted.

“Hey, Dani, I’ve gotta run.”

Dani whipped around, her brows furrowing as she sucked in her cheeks.

“Already?” she asked with a light-heartedness that was drenched in disappointment.

“Yeah,” Ainsley grabbed one of the mugs and took a huge swig of boiling black coffee. She grimaced for a moment before hurrying towards the door, fumbling with her knee-high boots.

“It’s work, and my mother, and…” she trailed off and looked up at Dani.

“You’re right,” the other woman said. “I’ve gotta get to work, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Ainsley paused, and studied Dani’s perfect skin and hair. She was wearing nothing but a long T-shirt that stuck to her breasts, and an image flashed briefly in Ainsley’s mind of grasping that perfect hair, and banging that beautiful face into the wall.

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Nah,” Dani sighed, stirring sugar into her coffee. “It’s been a slow week - thank God - and Malcolm isn’t there, so I don’t have to babysit.”

Ainsley chuckled dryly, as Dani whipped around, reaching out a hand. Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake.

“Oh, no! I mean - I’m sorry. You know I love Malcolm-”  
“No, no, I get it.” Ainsley watched Dani’s mug on the edge of the counter, the rim of it was over the edge. Any further and it would fall off the edge. “My brother is a pain in the ass.”

Dani smirked, half-apologetic, half-amused.

“Anyway,” Ainsley raised her eyebrows and spun around. “I’ll see you later, Dani."

She slammed the door before she could hear a reply.

Ainsley approached Sal’s pizzeria and continued on past it for several blocks. She followed a series of twists and turns for about a mile. Twists and turns three people had memorized as a roadmap in the back of their minds - her, her father, and Malcolm.

She emerged from between a dodgy hair salon, and a butcher shop (how ironic) that she was sure anyone would get sick from. The lot she had become a little too familiar with smelled of fish, and oil, and a blend of hair products that reminded her of Chernobyl. 

There weren’t any cars here, there never were. Just a few paper bags blowing around like tumbleweeds and a brick wall with graffiti. Malcolm stood in front of the wall, sipping sparkling water that she prayed - for his sake - was spiked with vodka. 

“What is that?” She called, stepping in a dark mystery fluid as she crossed the lot.

Malcolm lifted the glass to read the label, as if he didn’t know, and then said-

“Water!”

“Just water?” She asked a little quieter this time.

“Yes..? What else?”

Ainsley huffed a great big sigh, and stopped just a few paces before her brother.

“It’s good to see you, bro,” she said, studying his face that had become a little more grey, a little more sunken in. 

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at the dark cement and shifting his weight from foot to heavy foot. “You too, sis.”

She gave him a half-assed smile, and looked up at the wall of graffiti. Painted in big, chalky letters at the center of the wall said:

EAT ME!

She scowled and wondered what would provoke someone to risk time in prison to spray paint something so worthless onto a wall very few people would ever see. Maybe that’s why the person chose this wall. 

“So…” she dragged out the “o” just to highlight the discomfort between them. Well, his discomfort. She was comfortable. 

“Any new developments?”

“Well, we’re not looking for Endicott anymore-”

“That’s good!”

“...Because the case has been handed off to the FBI.”

“Godammit!” 

Malcolm chuckled dryly, the weight of despair sinking in his gut.

“Yeah. And Colette Swanson is heading the investigation.”

Ainsley stared at Malcolm for a few agonizing seconds as he continued to stare at the pavement. 

“Well, fuck!” She exclaimed, shaking her head emphatically.

“Yeah. It’s…pretty bad.”  
“She hates us. It would bring her great pleasure to bring down this family. She probably gets off on it or something.”

“No, Ains. She hates me. It would bring her pleasure to take me down. The only reason I’m not in custody right now is because Edrisa is risking her life to publicly accuse Endicott’s lab of faking evidence. She claims that she can prove it. It’s really bad-”

Malcolm’s voice cracked, and he put a fist to his mouth and closed his eyes. 

“Hey, Malcolm,” Ainsley said, putting a hand on her brother’s shoulder. His eyes flew open and he winced under her touch. She grimaced, but nodded and dropped her hand. “It’s gonna be okay. Nothing is going to happen to Edrisa...I promise.”

Malcolm nodded and swallowed hard. Ainsley really looked at him now, and he looked miserable.

“We’re going to fix this.” She turned and looked back across the lot. She watched as a man heaved a trash bag tinted with red over the edge of the garbage and dropped it in. He turned and went back inside the slaughterhouse.

“I’m…” she drifted off, and turned back to her brother, gathering her thoughts. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

And she was. Not for killing Endicott, but for the distress it so clearly put her brother through. 

“If I go down,” he said in a hushed voice, looking at her intensely from under his brow. Ainsley knew where this was going, they’d gone down this road many times in the past few days.

“-you’re not-”

“But if I do-”

“-you won’t.”

“But, if I do...then I fully intend to take the blame for Endicott.”

“That’s a sure way to get a life sentence.”

“Ainsley,” the strain in her brother’s voice was increasing, and his volume grew louder. “I’m probably getting a life sentence either way!”

She bowed her head and shushed him. He nodded and let out a shuddering sigh.

“No, you’re not. You’re not going to prison.”

Malcolm grimaced but didn’t protest. It was no use. 

“Take the night off. Go home to Edrisa. Get some sleep. God, you need it.”

Ainsley turned and headed back towards the narrow alleyway. Malcolm clenched his fists and rocked on his feet, trying to work up the nerve to ask the one question on his mind. 

“Hey, Ains!” he called after her, his heart pounding so hard, he could hear it in his ears.

“Yeah?” She turned back to face him. His eyes were red and expressed such sadness that it added a note of seriousness that she hadn’t felt before. Like wearing black to a big white wedding, or adding rainfall to some dramatic scene from a movie. 

“Was it worth it?”

Ainsley stared blankly back at him.

“I mean, it was done with such precision, such ease - it must’ve been worth it.”

Ainsley looked thoughtfully to the side and took a few steps forward.

“You can’t equate precision to gratification. But yeah, I mean, Endicott would’ve killed us both. No matter how shitty things get now - and it is a shitstorm, I know. I’d say it was worth it. Don’t you think so?”  
Malcolm nodded curtly, kicking himself for asking the wrong question. He was no closer to understanding his sister. 

But Ainsley stayed there for several moments, studying his expression, her head cocked to the side. Malcolm suspected that she could smell his bullshit even over the stench of fish, gasoline...and...Jesus, what _was_ that? 

“What are you really asking, Malcolm?”

Malcolm sighed and paused for a moment before meeting his sister’s unrelenting gaze.

“Was it your first?”

An odd expression crossed Ainsley’s face. She sucked her teeth and smiled, her eyes questioning, but her demeanor light. Was it really guilt? Incredulity? Denial? A badly covered up lie?

“My first kill?” She gritted her teeth and looked down. 

“Yes, Malcolm.” She said sharply. “The guy I killed in self defense was the first guy I ever killed. I was defending myself, I’m not a murderer. I’m not dad.”

The Whitley siblings paused as they tried to read each other’s expressions while masking their own. Suddenly, Ainsley cackled loudly and turned away. The only thing left of her was the clacking sound of those knee-high boots.


	2. Detachment

Edrisa Tanaka sat on a tiny tin chair in the corner of the morgue, scribbling in her notebook. Malcolm had begged her not to leave the apartment alone, but right now she needed a comfort that the living just couldn’t provide. Down here in the morgue, she didn’t have to put on a smile for anyone. She didn’t have to tell concerned friends that she was doing fine, or downplay the threats that seemed to lurk in every gesture of the living, in every bright corner in the apartment she shared with Malcolm. Here, she could quietly grieve. 

Dr. Harris, the professor who had sparked her interest in becoming a medical examiner, had once told her that-

“The Morgue isn’t a place for grieving. It’s a place for dissection, discovery, and detachment.”

Edrisa had always believed that to be true. Until now.

She wiped the tears from beneath her glasses, and sighed. Then she flipped to a blank sheet of paper in her notebook, and began to write.

“ _ My dearest E,” _ she began.

_ “I secretly hope that this letter will find you well, though I know it will never find you at all. In the brief time I knew you, it was the only time I felt true fulfillment, true joy, and I will carry that with me for as long as I live. You see, I’ve dedicated my time to the dead. There’s a certain art in the way people express their darkest passions. But to them it’s not darkness - sometimes it’s love. I think I understand that now. To love someone so wholly who can never love you back. To long for the face you’ve never seen, to hold so closely those we’ve never even met. And that’s what you’ve shown me, E. That life can be even more beautiful than death. That we should cling to those hearts that beat alongside our’s, for the short time that we have them. Because just when you begin to taste your daily morning coffee, to smell the pungent fumes on your daily commute, to see the love in everything around you - once you begin to truly feel alive - that’s when it’s all stripped away. _

_ I look for you everyday, E. In every crappy cup of coffee, in every stench that surrounds the air on the hot New York subway, in every tired, distracted eye - I look for you. Because though I’ll never know your face, or really know you at all - you’re the greatest art I’ll ever know. And I love you, I truly do.” _

Edrisa slowly lowered her glasses, and rested them on the notebook. Then she placed the notebook on the cold floor beside her. She wiped at the tears streaming steadily from her eyes, mixing with her black makeup, and creating dark watercolour lines across her face. She thought someone a lot more talented than her could create a work of art like this. With a strained, tired canvas that had aged more in the past year than it ever had for decades before. And the artist would take only the very darkest colours in their set - the colours reserved for sketching the first lines in existence - and they could paint these colours on honestly. Every brushstroke could represent a strained breath of air, every flick of the wrist would be unsteady and uncertain. The artist would frame it, and hang it, and call it something simple and yet not simple. Something like “Grief,” or “Loss,” or “Pain.” And they could admire their work for a while, and then silently, they’d leave the building. Then they’d burn it down. 

But there was no such painting, and there was no Great Artist to burn it. There was only her and her invisible letter, sitting quietly in a room among the dead. She got to her feet and felt a sharp pain in her chest. She ignored it, and crossed the room. She pulled the blinds open, and let the weak morning light filter into the room. The light that stained the walls grew and made the lockers glow with a metallic shine that hurt to look at. She thought of one of the first things her husband had ever said to her-

“You’re like Picasso with formaldehyde.”  
A sharp burst of laughter interrupted her tears, and she smiled weakly to herself. If that wasn’t a sign that she was the artist, then what was? 

The recovery from grief wasn’t steady, or gradual - it would be better one day, and devastating again the next. But she made a promise to herself then that she would try her best not to be the woman in the painting on fire. She would be in control, she would be her best. She would be the artist. 


	3. The Quiet

Malcolm was awoken from his sleep as his body shot up from the chair, and tried to take off. However, due to an unfortunately placed rug, he ended up tripping and face-planting. Malcolm was awoken from his sleep with hard floor to his face, barely avoiding a sprained ankle. He groaned and rolled onto his back, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the blood that was already gushing out. He pulled the bottom of his T-shirt up to his face, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the morgue, knowing that Edrisa wouldn’t answer her cell.

“Edrisa Tanaka-Bright,” the voice from the other line said perkily, instantly making Malcolm feel more at ease. “If you’re not calling for me, then I think you have the wrong number. Otherwise-”

She glanced at the cadavers around her, her only company.

“-I have some terrible news.”

Malcolm smiled lightly from beneath his shirt.

“Hey, Edrisa. It’s, uh, it’s me.”

“Malcolm!” 

His heart sank. There was clear surprise in her voice, which wasn’t what upset him. Though he did call her at work pretty often these days. It hurt because it wasn’t pleasant surprise. It wasn’t unpleasant either, but he so missed the days where any word from him could make Edrisa smile.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m just calling to-”

He gagged and coughed up a small amount of blood. If Edrisa had been home, she would have gently reminded him not to lay back with a nosebleed. But she wasn’t here, and he wasn’t there. They were all alone.

“Are you alright?” Edrisa asked urgently. The genuinity in her voice spent a shiver down his spine and made his gut ache.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m totally fine. Hey, listen - why don’t I pick you up from work? We could go out for dinner-”

“That’s nice, but I don’t think so, Malcolm. Someone could recognize us, and we’d…”

She trailed off, and Malcolm felt like she was getting farther and farther away. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. 

“Yeah, okay! No problem. Maybe we could drive-through somewhere. Or, better yet, I’ll cook!”

The silence that met him on the other line made him hang his head and sigh through gritted teeth, hoping she wouldn’t hear. Suddenly, the apartment felt cold, and dark. He felt so alone, he could cry. He wondered if they’d ever run out of nights like these.

“Um…” Edrisa blurted out, a slight shake in her voice. She paused, and they both started talking at once.

“Forget it-” Malcolm began, as light-heartedly as he could force. 

“-I’m sorry, but tonight-”

“It was a stupid idea-”

“No!” Edrisa interjected. “It’s a lovely idea, really. But Gil said he’d drive me home, and I’m kinda tired tonight…”

“Yeah, no, I totally get it.” Malcolm smiled reassuringly, even though he didn’t really get it.

The married couple sat there for a few minutes longer, sharing a silence that was comforting yet uncomfortable. Edrisa on her tiny tin chair. Malcolm sitting up against the sofa, the T-Shirt that Edrisa bought him (so he’d “relax more,”) still soaking up his blood. 

“Alright,” Edrisa said finally. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Yeah.” Malcolm’s voice was hoarse, and strained, and he couldn’t stop the tears that gathered in his eyes anymore.

“It really was a lovely idea, Malcolm. Thank you for trying.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He heard the quiet click of the receiver and slowly lowered his phone. The silence overwhelmed him.

_ Turn the TV on! _

The single voice in his head that wanted him to get better, among the sea of angry, hateful voices, piped up. But he couldn’t get up. He dropped his shirt, as the blood was now drying, and he was sure he looked like someone out of a horror film. He found an odd comfort in that. Gore that wasn’t born out of violence. Or maybe he just made it all up.

His phone rang again, startling him. It was Ainsley.

“Hello?” He was surprised by the curiosity in his own voice.

“Malcolm? Hey. Someone at my work went missing, and it’s super shady.”

“Oh, well, you should probably call kill. I’m not really doing that shit anymore-”

“Yeah,” Ainsley cut in. “I know. And I think that’s part of the problem. You’re sitting around dwelling on our...problem. When you should be out catching murderers, and looking at dead bodies...and whatever the hell else it is that you love doing. You need a case. This is your case.”

Malcolm sighed and looked around his empty apartment. His nightmares had gotten worse, his hand tremor was so bad, that he could hardly hold the phone against his ear. Maybe she had a point.

“Okay,” he grimaced as he slowly got to his feet and made his way over to his kitchen counter, wincing with every step. He grabbed a pen and paper and wrote in capital letters:

MISSING GIRL

He underlined the words, and forced his trembling hand back to his ear.

“What’ve you got for me?”

Dani turned on the light and was surprised to see a startled JT sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“JT,” she said, half questioning, half amused. “What are you doing here so late?”  
“Just...catching up on work,” he yawned and shuffled papers around on his desk.

Dani dropped her bag beside her chair, and sat, staring at JT with mock-surprise.

“Javier Thorne-” her voice went up and down dramatically in a teasing manner.

“-is not my name,” JT cut in. “Don’t you start that now. Malcolm is enough.”

“Malcolm who you care about-”

“NO-”  
“-So much-”

“Dani, stop it.”

“That you would stay after hours to work on proving his innocence.”

JT dropped his head in his hands and groaned loudly.

Dani’s hand flung to her chest and she swayed in her chair with such force, she almost tipped over.

“You  _ do _ have a heart somewhere in there!” She cried, steadying herself with both of her hands on her desk.

JT crumpled up a piece of loose-leaf paper and tossed it at a chuckling Dani.

“I do not care about Malcolm,” he made sure to enunciate each word to illustrate his point. “But it’s my job to make sure the right people are punished.”

Dani dropped her shoulders, finding herself genuinely surprised.

“So, that means that you don’t think Malcolm did it?”

“Of course not,” JT grumbled. He looked over at Dani, and, seeing the seriousness in her expression, he continued.

“I think the little dude’s a psycho, but, I don’t think he’d ever kill someone.”

Dani bit back a smile, a small part of her was satisfied. No matter how much JT acted like Malcolm got on his last nerve, and hell, it probably wasn’t an act. He still recognized that there was good in Malcolm, the same good that made him one of her best friends and the same good that she saw in Ainsley. She felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her love affair a secret from the team. But Ainsley was insistent on keeping things quiet, at least until Malcolm’s name was cleared.

“By the way,” JT interrupted her train of thought, startling her into the present. “Why are you here?”

“Oh,” Dani sat back and pulled a folder out of her bag. “Malcolm called me. He said that someone at Ainsley’s work went missing.”

JT raised an eyebrow.

“A new case?”  
“Yup. Malcolm is gonna come in tomorrow, but I thought I’d get a head-start on research.”

“Need a hand?”

Dani smiled.

“From you? Always.”

As JT rolled his chair over to Dani's desk, and the old friends began researching their investigation, things almost felt right. Almost normal. But this would be their last taste of normalcy. And as JT and Dani begun their research, Edrisa pulled back the sheets on the bed she shared with Malcolm. She laid close to him, but they didn't touch. They laid together with their backs to one another, a hundred miles apart. But this had become normal for them, too. As everyone adjusted to their silent normals, Ainsley walked through the doors of the Claremont Psychiatric Hospital. She held her head high, and her eyes burned with a fire that few people had ever seen. She was determined to make noise. Noise that would destroy all of these quiet normals, and the effects of which would echo for years to come.


	4. The Apartment

As Malcolm crossed the street trying too hard to look casual, he wondered if he should’ve waited until daylight. He shook his head and quickened his pace, the cold January air biting at his skin. His eyes are dry and tired, and he squeezes them shut in hopes of clearing his sight. When he opens his eyes again, he sees a group of men on the corner. He feels his Rolex heavy on his wrist, his thousand dollar suit itches at his skin. 

The men stare at him as he hurries past, a cloud of hot smoke rising from the bong between them. One man exhales silver smoke as his lips curl up into a devilish smile. Another man makes a crude gesture with his hands that Malcolm pretends not to see. When he rounds the corner, unbuckles his watch and slips it into the pocket of his coat. 

He can see the building now, huddling at the end of the block, it’s boarded up windows like scars that will never heal. He crosses the street without checking for cars, and ducks into the alley beside it. His heart is still pounding, and that familiar shake has returned to his hand. Psychopaths were easy. If you were smart, you could use their ego and the brilliance so many of them seemed to have, and you could talk them down. 

The strange people who hung around the streets of Queens at three in the morning weren’t that. There were bigger stakes there. People like that didn’t want to cut you open most of the time. They weren’t playing the role of “dear old dad,” during the daytime. Most of them had a conscience. But they were victimized by a bigger system. There was more at play here than physical instincts. 

The same system that had rewarded Malcolm with marble floors and suits whose price tags ventured into the quadruple digits. Not to mention an inheritance that meant he could quit his job and never work again, and still live the rest of his days comfortably. He shuddered as he rounded the corner. His heart began pounding once again as he saw the back door was busted. He cautiously ascended the three concrete steps before the door, his heavy boots crunching down on the broken glass that littered the entrance.

The back door led into a mail room, he assumed. Though there was nothing left except empty tin shelves and broken-down cardboard boxes to support this suspicion. For what felt like the thousandth time that night, he wondered just exactly how his sister knew where the victim had grown up. His concern would only grow, but at this point, he shrugged it off. He approached the gaping doorway at the end of the room with growing caution. What was left of the door clung stiffly to the hinges near the top of the frame, the rest of it seemed to have been torn off. Malcolm crossed the threshold and slowly took in the small lobby he had entered. There were two tin chairs crammed in the narrow walkway between the wall and the counter he was standing behind. The narrow walkway continued into a dark staircase. 

Malcolm swallowed hard, and quietly swung his legs over the counter. He took the small flashlight he kept in his pocket, and shone it up the stairwell. A cluster of small roaches scattered as he stepped into the well, and a shiver ran up his spine as he let out a yelp of surprise.

“Okay, Bright.” He whispered to himself. “Get it together.”

Malcolm started up the steps, shining the light on the stairs in front of him rather than up ahead. He told himself that it was for visibility, but it was actually to avoid any more creepy-crawlies.

The staircase made him tired and short of breath, and he was once again reminded of how out of shape he was. When he reached the sixth floor, he paused on the landing and peered through the small shattered window that looked into the hallway. He was met with nothing but darkness. He cautiously pushed the door open, and shone the light once either way. Nothing.

He turned left and found it a little ways down the hall. Apartment 614. Unlike the other apartments, the door to 614 was swung wide open. Malcolm turned his back to the left side of the wall, and moved along it. The bathroom came up first, and he quickly checked there first. Nothing. He continued on to the living space. It was the size of an ordinary bedroom, and fit an old couch with a table, along with a small kitchen counter. There was only one other door in the apartment, and it stood wide open. Malcolm could see a shadow move across the doorway and listened to the sound of footfall. 

He ducked behind the couch, and listened. He heard a man’s voice speaking.

“Yeah,” the man said as he continued to pace the room. “Yeah, I’ve almost got everything, so chill.”

This was followed by a stretch of silence.

“Yeah, alright. Just let me get out of here before the kid comes. Okay.”

The man hung up the phone, and Malcolm could hear the sound of footsteps approaching him. Approaching the couch. He had to act fast.

Before you could say “Maybe you should think about this,” Malcolm was on his feet.

The guy jumped, startled, and threw his phone. It flew by an inch from Malcolm’s head, and collided into the wall behind him.

“Hey, hey, we’re cool!” Malcolm cried, flashing him a smile.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy demanded, his hands out, his eyes frantically searching the apartment.

“My name is Malcolm Bright. I work for the NYPD, I’m here for a case. Walk away now, and I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“NYPD!” The guy snorted. “You’re about ten years too late.”

Malcolm could see now that the guy was empty-handed. He wasn’t carrying anything from the apartment, and there wasn’t any sign of a weapon on him.

“Sir, do you mind me asking what you’re doing here?”  
“I’m here on request from a friend.” said the guy, his silver mustache rising with the emphasis on “friend.”

“But I’m not breaking any laws, pal.” The guy added quickly.

“Well, actually,” Malcolm circled out from behind the couch, approaching the stranger, who scoured at him. “You are. You’re trespassing. Maybe even breaking and entering. But I’m not here about that. What did you mean when you said I was ten years too late?”  
“Hmm…” the man looked at him closely, eyeing the expensive suit underneath the long coat. “Nevermind, pal. Why don’t you and I just go our separate ways?”

“Tell me what you know,” Malcolm said carefully but firmly. “And I won’t take you in.”  
“You a cop?”  
“I work with the NYPD.”

“That don’t make you a cop.”

“I can still arrest you.”

Mustache eyed Malcolm, studying his expression closely. Then he let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh.

“I can’t tell you why I’m here, because I was specifically told not to tell you.”

“Not to tell the NYPD?”

“No, pal. Not to tell  _ you. _ ”

“I don’t follow.”

“You said your name was Malcolm, right?”

Malcolm was too stunned to answer, and Mustache chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Who told you not to tell me?” Malcolm demanded, his patience running uncharacteristically low as his irritation grew. 

“Some lady, I don’t know.”

“What was her name?”

“I don’t know, Cynthia, I think?”

“You think? Or you know?” Malcolm’s voice grew louder as he took a step closer to the stranger. Mustache squared him up, and Malcolm sighed in frustration.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, pal!” The stranger huffed, but there was no real threat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. But please, it’s important.”

“You can’t arrest me!” Mustache smirked, a mischievous glimmer in his eye.

“You’re right, I can’t. For several reasons, mostly because I don’t have that kind of power and because I would be arrested too. So please, give me something.”

“Alright, yes. Her name is Cynthia. Not a name you hear so much anymore, eh?”

Malcolm let his hands lower slowly, and felt his chest tighten.

“You okay pal? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What’s she to you?”

“What? Malcolm looked back at Mustache, who he hadn’t been paying much attention to.

“You got this look when I said her name’s Cynthia.”

Malcolm sighed, and looked towards the boarded up window.

“The victim’s name is Cynthia. And this is  _ her _ apartment.”


	5. This Side of the Bed

Edrisa Tanaka stared at the wall at 3am, unable to sleep from the weight of the world and the coolness of the empty bed beside her. She sat up and put on her glasses, wondering where Malcolm was and if he was alright. She used to get angry at him for keeping her up worrying, but she wasn’t angry anymore. If anything, she was tired. But not in a way that let her sleep. She imagined a better world where they had never fallen in love, and they could continue their happy lives in this bliss. She wondered if there was a version of her out there, somewhere, that was sleeping peacefully. Maybe there was a world where they never met at all.

She threw off the covers, and slowly lowered each foot to the cold floor. She took her time getting up and crossing over to the desk where her laptop sat. She searched her name, against her better judgement.

“ _ Malcolm Whitley and wife involved in murder case.” _

“ _ Edrisa Tanaka uses wealth and power to free her husband, Malcolm Whitley of murder charges _ .”

Edrisa slammed her laptop shut and opened her phone. She read over some of the letters she had received in the mail that were now in her phone (for evidence, Malcolm’s top lawyer assured her).

_ Dr. Tanaka: _

_ Please cease your search for false evidence. If not, be prepared for repercussions. Your husband, Malcolm Whitley, consults for the NYPD and can frequently be seen unaccompanied in public. Yesterday at three o’clock he was at his mother, Jessica Whitley’s house. When he left at approximately 4:45pm, he could be seen in the coffee shop down the street. _

_ If you want your husband unharmed, then you will stop the search immediately and destroy any evidence you’ve found thus far- _

Edrisa swallowed hard and swiped to the next letter.

_ Mrs. Whitley,  _ (this made Edrisa roll her eyes)

_ You’re digging yourself into a hole here. Stop immediately you cunt- _

Next one.

_ Edrisa Tanaka- _

_ You work as a medical examiner for the NYPD. You and your husband liked to go to coffee shops and cafes for breakfast, but you never go out to eat now, and you and your husband rarely see each other anymore. He doesn’t come home many nights, and is absent when he is home. Like his mind is elsewhere, like he doesn’t want to see you anymore. In August, you had a late-term miscarriage. Your child was to be named Elias, and it tore you apart to lose him. You feel pushed aside, isolated, and so lonely. Dani Powell visits you but you feel the same coldness in her eyes and often shut her out. JT Tarmel calls once in a while, if he remembers, as a chore. Your life is miserable, and the threats you receive are preventing you from fixing it.  _

_ I’m not telling you all this as a threat - I’m telling you because I know exactly how to help you. If you choose not to cease the search then there is nothing I can do for you. If you do stop, then I can make all of this go away quickly. Malcolm will never leave you, you’ll be able to walk the streets freely, and no one will be the wiser. I am a friend, I am here for you. If you’d like to get in touch, call the number at the bottom of this letter. If not, then best of luck. _

Edrisa sat there, staring at the big moon outside her window. Then she opened her laptop back up and opened a new document.

_ Dear E, _

_ In a world that relies on non-face-to-face communication, it’s hard to tell when someone is lying. I like to think that you’d be able to tell if someone was lying a mile away, like your father. But I’m not that way, and I don’t always know what the right thing to do is. But I know that people are inherently good. Not everyone, not your grandfather. But I don’t think humans are rooted in evil. I think evil happens to us, and then we happen to others. It spreads like a disease, like a plague. Maybe your grandfather did bad things to people because something bad happened to him. I don’t know, my darling E. But please remember this - we’re all rooted in good. _

Edrisa closed her laptop and flopped back onto the bed, feeling bone-tired but wide awake. Her phone rang. It was Malcolm.

“Hello?” She said, running a hand through her hair and trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Edrisa?” He sounded surprised, like he wasn’t expecting her to pick up. “What are you doing up?”

Her patience was running thin, and frustration churned her stomach.

“You called me.”

“Uh, yes.” Malcolm stammered softly. She felt a pang of guilt underneath the bitterness, but it was faint.

“You know the case I’m working on? Dani’s friend?”

Edrisa sat up slowly, her curiosity piqued. 

“No, I thought you were investigating Ainsley’s co-worker?”

“Yes! Same person actually.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Dani knew her.”

“Yeah, a long time ago. So, listen, I think it’s part of a bigger conspiracy. I just went to Dani’s old apartment building in Queens-”

“Malcolm?”

“-and there was this guy in Cynthia’s old apartment-”

“Malcolm?”

“-and he like-”  
“ _Malcolm_!”

“Yes?” Malcolm’s voice was full of enthusiasm, he was breathing heavily and she could practically see the old spark in his eye. He seemed...alive. And she resented him for it.

“Why did you call?” Edrisa said with a hushed fierceness. “To tell me about your case?”

She listened as Malcolm searched for words.

“I - uh, I…”

After a while of trying, he trailed off, and let the silence hang heavily between them. 

Finally, he said:  
“I guess?”

“Are you coming home?” Edrisa said, quiet, but without the fire.

“Yes,” Malcolm said softly. “Yes I am. Look - I’ll be home in like half an hour - less! If you want to talk?”

Edrisa looked at the clock as if she were deciding, though she’d already made up her mind.

“It’s really late, Malcolm. I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, a deep sadness lingering in his voice. “Sleep well. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

She immediately hung up the phone, and clutched her chest, her aching heart pounding.

Malcolm came in about a half hour lately, and Edrisa pretended to be asleep. Malcolm laid beside her and faced her, though she faced away from him, like he did sometimes when she was already asleep. Some nights she purposely pretended to be asleep just to feel his breath on her shoulder. Some nights he faced her just to look at her closely.


	6. The Wall

Dani Powell was fourteen years old when a scream in the night startled her from her sleep. She heard a man yelling, then a woman. There were a lot of voices coming from the other side of the wall, the voices, the screams, the faint  _ thump thump thumps,  _ that she couldn’t identify. Due to unfortunate financial circumstances, poor luck, and the bottomless bottle in her father’s hand, Dani shared a bedroom with her parents. They all hoped it was temporary.

Alarmed, she looked across the room at her parents. Her mother turned her head towards Dani and shook her head. Her father didn’t even open his eyes. Heart pounding, and confusion blurring her young mind, Dani tried her best to go back to sleep. 

A little less than two weeks later, Mr. Powell sat watching some variety show on the TV. Dani sat on the carpeted floor, drawing with a black gel pen. The noise once again raised and the  _ thump thump thump  _ continued. She could hear the man yelling on the other side of the wall, and she sunk into herself, scared.

She never liked the sound of men’s voices when they got loud, they reminded her of tigers roaring in some far-away jungle. She covered her ears as tears clouded her eyes, and looked to her father for protection. He glanced down at her and sighed.

“Look, kiddo,” he began, half-bored, half-frustrated, but trying to sound soothing for his daughter. “Family is a good thing, it is. But sometimes…. people don’t get along. And sometimes living in a single space with the same people, it - it can bring out the worst in people.”

He took another swig of his beer. A long swig, and Dani watched him savor every bit of the liquid. He’d let Dani try it once, but she had gagged at the taste.

“Shouldn’t we try to help?” Dani whimpered, cowering as Mr. Thomas’s voice boomed from the other side of the wall.

“No, look - the bottom line is - what the Thomas’s do is none of our business. You understand?”

Dani didn’t say anything but she nodded vigorously, even though she didn’t understand. But she understood that she needed to listen to her father, and that was all that mattered.

These fights happened regularly for the better half of the year, but with every roar of Mr. Thomas’s voice and every scream and sob, Dani became numb to it. If she was home alone, she’d put on the radio and drown out the voices as she did her homework. But she never quite got used to the  _ thump thump thump- _ ing sound that seemed to rattle the entire apartment.

When Dani was fifteen, she recognized Cynthia Thomas on a bus from Middlesex to Bensenhurst. Cynthia was a bit older than her, but not by much. She debated sitting next to the girl, but suddenly, the weight of the past year felt like a thousand rocks in her stomach. A sharp pang gripped her chest, and she hurried past. The weight of her inactions was unbearable, and Dani blinked back tears as she noticed the bruises that stuck out on her pale freckled skin. 

Despite this, several months passed as the fighting continued and Dani remained in crushing silence. 

But when Dani was sixteen, her father died. It seemed the thing he had loved the most had finally killed him. But that felt too poetic for this shit-show - her father was a drunk. He had drank himself to death, the end. 

She returned home alone from the funeral (her mother was with the cousins), and the fighting began before she even changed out of her black dress. 

So Dani calmly went next door and knocked. It was Mr. Thomas who answered, the blood vessels popping in his eyes. Because their apartment layout was identical to Dani’s, she knew where to look. She looked and could see Cynthia who stood, crying, in the middle of the living area. Behind her cowered Mrs. Thomas, a shadowed heap in the corner.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Thomas said kindly enough, though there was a condescending note to his voice.

Dani hadn’t planned this far ahead, so she froze for a moment and locked eyes with Cynthia. The other girl stared back with swollen, distrusting eyes. Her red hair was in tangles, and Dani could see a clump of red hair on the floor. Without thinking, she kicked out her foot with all her strength. The sole of her black heels, still muddy from her father’s funeral, collided with Mr. Thomas’s shin. His knees buckled as he let out a cry, and Dani took off down the hallway. 

He moved quickly after her, grabbing at her hair, her dress, her arms, and just barely missing. Dani screamed as loud as she could, not in fear but vindictiveness. It was an odd effort, and not how she would’ve planned to intervene, but it worked - the chaos that had erupted in the hallway had motivated enough neighbors to call the police. 

As Dani would learn later in life, people had called the cops on the Thomas’s before. But most cops were selective with their help, and Dani lived in a place that was often deemed “too much trouble,” or “unworthy.” But enough of the neighbors called in to inspire a couple of cops to investigate. Dani was asked a lot of questions, most of them she didn’t know how to answer. The cops spent hours at the Thomas’s place, that would soon be someone else’s place. 

Dani didn’t know much of what happened after that, but she heard the neighbors talk:

“Thomas got at least ten years...the bastard shoulda got more!” She overheard Mr. Murphy say one day.

“The girl changed her name and ran away.” Dani heard Betsy down the hall say to Travis, the postman. 

The general rumor on Mrs. Thomas was that she committed suicide via bottle of pills. Dani didn’t know if this was true, but she wondered if it would’ve happened if she hadn’t intervened. Dani cried about it in the shower, and found herself wondering the same thing every day for years.

When Dani told Ainsley Whitley about it over a decade lately, she expected the same response she always got: “It’s not your fault, you did the right thing!”

Instead, Ainsley said: “It’s just a fucking rumor!”

And somehow this was worse. But also, in some ways, better. 

Some nights she couldn’t sleep, so she would picture Cynthia on an island somewhere, drinking daiquiris, or surfing. What if she was happy? What if she was smiling and running into her mother’s arms? 

And only when Dani could visualize the perfect outcome, would she be allowed to sleep. This happy-island fantasy became a ritual or sorts, a penance. A happy ending to offer up to the universe in exchange for an eased conscience. The guilt would be alleviated just enough for Dani to drift off into sleep.


	7. The Report

“I’m telling you,” Malcolm said, taking a bite out of the burger in his hand. “The guy was in her apartment, and it was super weird...I think this family is really fucked up.”

“More so than your creepy-ass family?” JT snorted, almost finished with his burger and throwing out the wrapper as they passed a trash can on the corner.

Malcolm forced himself to take another bite out of his own burger and choked it down. Most food made him want to barf, and the stress of the case wasn’t mixing well with New York City grease. 

“Look,” he said, slowing down and bowing his head towards JT. “Ainsley said Cynthia was always alone. No friends, boyfriend, family.”

“But you think something else is up?” JT raised an eyebrow.

“No, no - I just don’t think Ainsley knew her that well and maybe someone else will know better.” 

As they rounded the corner, Malcolm discreetly threw away his burger, as JT held the door open for him. The studio was spacious and cool. Many business casual people buzzed by, the blur of their faces overwhelmed Malcolm as he tried to take in everything at once. He’d been to the studio a hand-full of times before, and each time was more overwhelming than the last. It felt as if nothing had changed since coming in off of the street, except now he was confined to the strange smells, indecipherable hum of voices, the  _ click-clack _ of high heels on tile. 

“Malcolm?” There was genuine concern in JT’s voice, and Malcolm would’ve been touched if bile wasn’t rising in the back of his throat. “You okay man?”

Malcolm took a moment to breath and relax his senses before replying.

“Yeah.” He said unconvincingly. “Let’s go.”

The back hallway was full of rooms that Malcolm was rarely allowed in. There were still people milling and chatting about, but there were less here, and the brighter lighting made Malcolm feel comforted and exposed all at once. 

A woman with a headset looked at him and JT oddly for a moment, and Malcolm approached her.

“Excuse me,” he said louder than intended, startling her, and he tried to make up for it with a smile. “I’m Malcolm Bright, I work with the NYPD. This is detective Tarmel-”

JT flashed his badge.

“-we were hoping we could ask you a few questions about Cynthia Thomas.”

The woman raised her eyebrows.

“Did you find her? Is she alright?”

The hope in her voice stung JT and he looked away. 

“No,” Malcolm said sympathetically. “I’m sorry, we’re just here to ask a few questions.”  
The woman nodded and smiled politely, but there was a sadness in her eyes.

“Okay, you can follow me.” She said and turned away. She led them down the hallway to a room on the end. Malcolm stepped in and looked around curiously. It appeared to be a dressing room of some sort crowded with cloth and boxes. A bench with a large mirror took up most of the back wall. 

“Malcolm Bright,” the woman said, pushing some boxes out of the way. “You’re Ainsley’s brother!”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, surprised, and then smiled.

“I am!”

“Yeah, she talks about you all the time. She’ll be on in a few minutes if you’d like to stay and watch.”

“Um,” Malcolm looked at JT who stared at him, deadpan, out of the corner of his eye. He rolled his eyes, giving in.

“Yes! Yeah, that would be great.”

“Alright,” the woman straightened up and headed for the door. “I’ll get Laurie. She’s the executive producer.”

“Actually-” JT interjected, stopping her in her tracks. “Did you know Ms. Thomas?”

The woman shifted awkwardly on her feet, looking from JT to Malcolm and back again.

“I did,” said the woman, warily. “Am I a suspect.”

Malcolm chuckled lightly.

“No, we were just hoping to ask a few questions, to see what she was like.”

“Oh,” the woman laughed rigidly. “Of course.”

Malcolm encouraged her to take a seat as JT took out his notepad.

“What’s your name?” he asked, distractedly.

“Jill. Jillian Black.”

Jill took off her headset, and set it aside.

“And how did you know Ms. Thomas?”

“Uh,” Cynthia froze. “She...worked here? Acquaintance, I suppose.”

Malcolm smiled at her, reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Ms. Black. I assure you you’re not in any trouble.”

“Okay,” Jill chuckled. “Well that’s a relief!” 

“Did Ms. Thomas ever mention a relationship in her life? Romantic, or any family members or anything?”

“She had a boyfriend who was always hanging around.”

JT glanced discreetly at Malcolm whose wide-eyed surprise couldn’t be more obvious. JT cleared his throat and returned to his notepad.

“Do you have any information about this boyfriend. Even just a name?”

“Oh, what was his name…”

She snapped her fingers and furrowed her eyebrows.

“It’s, uh-”  
Just then, a panicked man burst through the door.

“Jill!” he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath. “We’ve been looking everywhere! Some guy called in and is claiming to know Ainsley.”

Jill shot up as Malcolm whipped around.

“Is she alright?” Malcolm asked, already across the room and out the door before the man replied. 

Malcolm hurried down the hallway, looking at the sharpness of the anonymous faces around him. Their voices were hushed, their brows furrowed in concern, their mouths pulled tight at the corners. He walked faster before jogging, before breaking into a sprint. 

He burst through the door, gracelessly, and saw his sister on set, face wrinkled in anger or disgust, he couldn’t tell.

“Jessica Whitley had no idea of the Surgeon’s activities,” Ainsley was saying in her pointed way. People hurried around behind the camera, holding up cue cards and signalling her with their hands. Ainsley seemed to take no notice and continued.

“You’re blaming her for a crime she didn’t even know of, let alone commit.”  
JT appeared beside Malcolm, raising his eyebrows in concern.

“ _ All of the Whitleys are liars and killers. I have the means to prove it.” _ A robotic voice sounded on the line. “ _ Your blood is tainted, your home is cursed, your soul is damned.” _

Ainsley snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, what else is new?” Then she swallowed, more serious. Her eyes narrowed as she shifted in her seat. Her dark eyes held a distinct confidence, like she knew something no one else did. It was a game of poker and she held all the cards.

“But we’re not killers or liars. My mother, my brother and I are no different from anyone you might pass on the street. We’re not good or bad, we’re just human. Have you hurt someone?”

The ominous voice on the line ignored her question, but rather returned with one of his own.

“ _ Does your father know of your relationship with Detective Dani Powell of the NYPD?” _ The voice asked, catching Ainsley off guard and sending a shock of confusion through Malcolm.

“This is my show,” Ainsley growled. “You’ll answer  _ my  _ questions!”

“ _ Do you know you're setting yourself for eternal damnation? Homosexuality is a sin.” _

Ainsley smiled slyly. She had the upper hand again.

“I thought you said I was already damned for being a Whitley, so, might as well, right?”

She paused and was met with silence, before continuing.

“I don’t think you do know anything about the case. I think you’re just a religious-freak who called in for attention and to get a rise out of me. Not today, sir!”

And with that, Ainsley Whitley hung up the phone. She took a deep breath before addressing the camera again. She spoke in a calm, yet domineering tone, - she handled the situation like a professional. But Malcolm didn’t hear a word she said. His heart was pounding, his stomach was in knots. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat. The room was spinning and the studio was hot now.

He hunched over and the last thing he saw was JT’s shoes before he vomited all over them.

Ainley whipped around, her eyes shooting daggers towards the door. She huffed a big breath, not bothering to be quiet about it this time, before staring into the camera. She unclenched her jaw to say-

“We’ll be right back after this commercial break.”

Malcolm followed Ainsley outside as JT wiped down his shoes.

“Ainsley,” he called weakly, but his sister didn’t let up. “Ainsley, please!”

She slowed into a stop before whipping around to confront him.

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Mal!” She cried, looking down at her hunched over brother in disapproval.

“Is it true?” He asked quietly. When she crossed her arms wordlessly, he continued.

“About you and Dani?”

“Yes,” She said sharply. “As a matter of fact it is. But I’m not taking criticism from my brother who just barfed at the thought of it.”  
“No, no!” Malcolm waved a hand in front of him and straightened up slowly. “That’s not why I - why didn’t you tell me?”

Ainsley scrunched up her nose and looked to the side.

“I don’t know. There’s something so...permanent about it, I guess. I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

“That’s not a big deal. It is a big deal that you didn’t tell me. Does mom know?”

“She does now. Hey - what were you doing there, anyway?”

Malcolm hesitated. But he was too quiet for too long, and he watched Ainsley’s expression morph from confusion to anger.

“You’re checking if my story is true?”

“Ainsley, no - someone there could’ve known her better! It’s nothing against you.”

“Oh really?” Ainsley glared down at his shoes, still speckled with vomit, then back to his face. “Yeah, I’m really getting that vibe.”

“Ainsley!” He called as she turned away, furious. 

“Oh,” she paused briefly. “And call your fucking wife. To say she misses you would be an understatement.”

And with that Ainsley stormed away, leaving her disgruntled brother.

Malcolm returned to the studio, feeling defeated. JT nodded him over. To Malcolm’s surprise, he didn’t look pissed off.

“Hey man,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry about your shoes.”

“It’s all good, Jill got me cleaned up. And while she did, she gave me the name of the boyfriend. Doug Brooks.”

“Fantastic,” Malcolm sighed unenthusiastically. He didn’t want to go look for Doug Brooks - he wanted to chase after Ainsley, and maybe go see his mother. Or maybe just burn every goddamn greasy hamburger in the city. He didn’t know, he was too tired.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”


	8. The Real and the Fading

“Dani?” Gil said softly, eyeing the young woman who sat in his office, biting her nails and staring vacantly at a picture of Jackie on his desk.

“Yeah?”

Dani’s hand dropped into her lap, but her eyes never changed as she spoke. His heart ached for the brilliant young woman who felt like a daughter to him in so many ways. He wanted to protect her, to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be alright.

Instead he said, “Malcolm will be back soon.”

Dani raised her brows but still didn’t move her blank eyes from the picture on his desk.

“Okay.”

Gil sighed deeply and stood up behind his desk. Taking his time to fix his turtleneck, he shuffled around and leaned on the front of his desk.

“You know,” he began, reaching for words. “When my Jackie died-”

“Don’t.” Dani said sharply and clearly. Her eyes finally glared up at Gil, brimming with tears.

“Please, don’t.”

He looked down at her with a disappointed surprise. She had caught him off guard. And despite his best efforts to hide it, he was hurt. But he recovered quickly and nodded, returning behind his desk.

Before he sat, he said -

“Please just know that I love you, we all do. And Malcolm loves you, too.”

Dani said nothing, and Gil returned to his work, finding it difficult to focus on reports as Dani seemed to slump further and further into herself. He was comforted by the thought - no, the knowledge - that Malcolm was a kind soul who he was sure would give his blessing. He thought of what it was like to see Dani drunk when she relapsed - shoulders slumped, eyes glazed over, all that exhausted melancholy. He really hoped Malcolm’s blessing would be enough.

When Malcolm did return, he didn’t hurry to Gil’s office with a smile on his face like Gil thought he would, but instead slumped behind JT with his hands in his pockets, lost in thought. Gil felt a tightness in his throat, and looked to Dani, who looked like she couldn’t care less what happened. If a bomb was set off in the precinct right then, he couldn’t picture her looking any different, and his heart broke.

Malcolm slowly entered the office, and flashed Gil a tight, awkward smile. Gil was already on his feet and collecting his papers when Malcolm asked to speak with Dani alone. They waited until the door clicked behind Gil to start speaking.

“Before you begin,” Dani forced herself to look Malcolm in the eye, no matter how painful it was. “I just want you to know that you’re my best friend. And I am truly sorry for any discomfort this situation has caused you….and I hope we can work past it.”

Malcolm’s face - which had been expressionless until that point - morphed into such sadness that it took Dani by surprise.

His eyes were soft and tearing up slightly, his brows arched up to the center of his forehead. His bottom lip quivered in that way that once made her think she could really fall in love with him.

It was beyond weird to compare her best friend to her girlfriend, especially with the awkward fact that they were siblings. But Malcolm was vulnerable and would bare his soul to her in a way that Ainsley never would. The softness in his face and voice caused a bittersweet warmness in her stomach, which is why she was particularly stunned by his next words.

“Please stop seeing her,” he said weakly. “Please, Dani.”

Dani sat up and shook her head in confusion. She felt a weight in her throat and tears in her eyes, and she took a moment to force back her emotions before replying.

“Malcolm, - it just happened, I’m sorry. I really care about your sister, can we just talk about it? I mean -”

Malcolm slowly crossed the room and sat beside Dani. He gripped the edge of his seat, his hand shaking uncontrollably. Dani looked up at him and he now had tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked at her so openly and softly - he wasn’t  _ angry,  _ not by far. So what was it?

“Dani,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “You have to stop seeing her. I love you both, so please trust me when I say that nothing good can come of this.”

“W-what do you mean?” she curled her lip and straightened her back, suddenly more angry, or confused, then upset.

“Please.” Malcolm begged softly. “Please, please, please…”

Dani scoffed in disbelief and then shook her head. She got up and stormed out of the room, and felt as if she were walking in slow motion under the scrutinous eyes of her coworkers.

_ Yes!  _ She wanted to scream at them.  _ Yes, I’m fucking Ainsley Whitley! Not just that, I’m in love with her! Now fuck off! _

But she remained silent, and pushed past Gil as he tried to stop her.

As soon as Dani got outside, she began hyperventilating as the tears rushed from her eyes. She held her head high despite this, and ignored the curious glances and whispers from anyone unfortunate enough to see her face. She didn’t care. Or, at least, she pretended not to. The reactions of those around her actually embarrassed her, and she tried to walk as fast as she could without drawing even more attention to herself.

“Hey, lady!” Some guy called out. She ignored him, and tried to calm her breathing by counting in her head.

“Hey, lady!” A hand gripped her shoulder, and she spun around in fury.

“ _ WHAT?”  _ Dani shouted, clenching and unclenching her fists until the insides of her palms were marked up from her nails.

The guy took a step back and raised his hands.

“Whoa, whoa. I come in peace. You just seem pretty upset, and, uh, I guess I just wanted to ask - are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“No, I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” the man chuckled. “You look tough. Where’re you from? Brooklyn?”  
Dani had calmed down a lot now, and she felt excruciatingly self-aware.

“Uh, no. Queens.”  
“Queens?” the man smiled kindly. “My pop was from Queens. But my ma is from Brooklyn, and that’s where I was raised.”

Dani smiled weakly and crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously.

“That’s - that’s cool.” She nodded and looked down. The man was wearing a black T-shirt that said:  **Mike’s Meat: Best Pork Around!**

She scowled and eyed the man - who she assumed was Mike - with disgust.

“Yeah,” he smiled again, politely. “So are you doing alright? Can I walk you home?”

Dani snorted in disbelief.

“No, thank you, Mike.” 

And she turned away. 

“Wait!” The man called. “I’m not being funny, I swear!”

Dani rolled her eyes and disappeared into the city crowds, feeling anonymous and on display all at once.

Malcolm got home early that day, and sobbed quietly as he removed his shoes. How was he supposed to tell Dani that his sister killed someone, and that he feared for her safety around Ainsley? How could he allow things to get to this point, where he was terrified that his sister would do something terrible to his best friend? And how was he to make Dani understand this without betraying Ainsley?

He didn’t know. His head hurt, and he couldn’t wait to see Edrisa. He figured she would be angry, but that was okay with him. She could scream, throw the good silverware, he would apologize a million times if that’s what it took - but he just couldn’t wait to be in her arms. He wanted everything to be right between them, whatever it took. He could no longer remember why things went so wrong in the first place. If only he were there for her after she miscarried, maybe they wouldn’t be where they were now.

“Edrisa?” he called. No reply.

“Edrisa?” he called again, still no reply. The lights were off, could she be sleeping already?

He crossed to the kitchen island, where her laptop sat and slipped into one of the seats. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach and his heart began to race at the thought of being caught. He clicked the keypad and the screen burst into light. In front of him was an open document addressed simply to “E.” It read:

_ I wish I was as strong as your father, but I’m not. I wish I could hold you, hug you, laugh with you, sing you to sleep. You belong here, in my arms forever and ever. But you’re not here, you never really were, and it’s so quiet. This place used to be alive with the chatter of voices and the clink of glasses, but now I walk these empty rooms with nothing but the echo of my own footsteps. It’s dark now, and you’re not real. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m real, if I ever was at all. _

Malcolm let out a shuddering breath and called out for her desperately.

“ _ EDRISA!” _

He searched every room expecting the worst, his dread only increasing as he found nothing. He searched the bedroom, the bathroom. Under the bed, behind the shower door. He stood in the middle of their apartment. The luxurious, spacious flat had once made him feel wealthy and powerful. Now it felt like a jail cell, he hated every inch, every corner of it. He couldn’t believe that he was ever happy under the disgusted sneer of those beige walls.

In a frantic burst, he fumbled for his phone and called Edrisa. He whimpered as the line rang, and felt a stone drop in his stomach as he heard the ringing inside the apartment. He slowly approached the hall where the ringing was coming from, - the hall he had just been down - his throat tightening with each sickening pound of his heart. He had never been this scared in his adult life. Not with Watkins, not as he disposed of Endicott’s body. 

Crying with a sort of manic hysteria now, he opened the bedroom door and approached the bed. He reached behind Edrisa’s pillow and pulled out her phone. He let out a sound halfway between a groan and a shout, and slid down the wall to the floor. He pulled at his hair as the threads of his mind weaved together all the horrific possibilities. 

He struggled to pick up his phone in his trembling hand, and struggled even more to select a contact.

She picked up after a ring and a half.

“Dani?” he sobbed into the phone feeling a sickening dread seething in his stomach. “Dani, something’s wrong…”   



	9. Three Days After

Three days after Edrisa went missing, morale was low and the dread hung over the precinct like a thick fog. The team tried to stay hopeful, particularly Gil, who treated the others as family and wanted to relieve their distress as much as possible. But it was difficult to find any leads, and the ones they did find were weak and never checked out. They worked through the past two nights and Dani, JT and Gil were burned out. Malcolm, on the other hand, seemed to thrive under the pressure. As the three detectives fought to stay awake, Malcolm zipped from one end of the table to the other, muttering words under his breath as he read. Gil called out to him, and he didn’t respond. After three tried, he finally looked up. His eyes were wide and shone in the dim lamplight. But as Dani looked into his eyes, she was surprised that under the wildness there was nothing. No pain, no sadness, no anger. It was like looking into the void, or a black hole. There was nothing there.

And then Dani realized that it wasn’t Malcolm thriving, - no, quite the opposite. It was his  _ obsession _ , the part of him that clung to his pain and trauma. As if Malcolm had checked out and now all his demons pulled the strings. 

Dani figured that Gil saw this too, by the way he hesitated when the young man caught his eye. Gil opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then let out a sigh and dropped his gaze. He shuffled some papers in front of him as Malcolm watched with that crazed, desperate gaze, as if he were seeking out God in everything he looked at.

Gil put the papers down and leaned his forearms on them, clasping his hands together and gathering his thoughts. Only then did he meet Malcolm’s eyes again.

“We all love Edrisa,” he began simply. This was easy, no one would dispute this fact. They all did.

“But, son, we need to look at this with fresh eyes.”

He cleared his throat as JT threw the papers he was holding back on the table. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, and something about him became very, very still.

“I propose that we all go home and get some rest,” Gil continued, now looking from Dani to JT. “And we’ll start again first thing in the morning.”

JT widened his eyes and nodded emphatically, clearly believing that this was the obvious choice. Dani and Gil looked back to Malcolm questioningly.

Malcolm didn’t say a word, but instead turned back to the papers and continued muttering the words under his breath. JT and Dani looked to Gil for guidance, who raised a hand to them and stood up.

“Malcolm,” Gil said gently but firmly. “How do you feel about that plan?”

Malcolm stopped what he was doing and let out a shuddering sigh that caused a sharp pain to shoot through Dani’s stomach.

“If you want to go, I understand.” The sincerity in his voice was surprising for someone who didn’t seem like he understood the concept of sleep and relaxation. 

“But I’m going to stay here.”

No one said anything or moved for a moment, so Malcolm continued.

“I can’t do it, Gil. I can’t rest until I find her. I -”

Malcolm’s voice cracked and Gil rushed around the table and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, trying to get Malcolm to look him in the eye. “You are not in this alone.”

JT shuffled awkwardly and tried to exchange a look with Dani, but Dani pretended not to notice.

Gil looked up at the two detectives on the other end of the table and added.

“We’ll find her, it will all be okay. I promise.”

Doubt filled Dani and before she could stop herself she blurted out:

“What if we don’t? What if she’s dead in a ditch somewhere?”

The room got silent as everyone looked at her. JT’s mouth was pulled tight at the corners, and he grimaced at her question. Malcolm, to her surprise, didn’t look angry or upset - he just looked curious. It was almost impossible to meet Gil’s eyes. He didn’t look angry either, his head was cocked slightly to the side and he frowned at her with a deep sadness. If anything, he looked disappointed.

“Oh, fuck.” She whispered to no one in particular. Then she spoke up.

“I’m so sorry.” 

To everyone’s surprise, Malcolm spoke up first.

“It’s okay,” he said in a steady voice and held her gaze with so much kindness, she had to look away.

“It’s important to be honest.” he said, looking at JT and then to Gil.

“Maybe not  _ that  _ honest,” JT muttered under his breath. Then he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“If we’re being honest, -”

Gil grimaced and sucked his teeth.

“-I’d like to point out that it’s been almost three days.”

He looked from person to person, from face to face. His eyes met Dani’s as he said:

“I mean, we’re all detectives. I think we know what that means.”

Gil’s eyes were tearing with a burning rage that he cast on JT, then Dani, and then back again. Malcolm remained silent and stared off with his fingers in front of his mouth like he did when he was deep in thought.

Gil smacked his lips and then spoke in a gravelly voice.

“ _ HOW DARE YOU-” _

“They’re right.” Malcolm interjected, stepping forward and drawing Gil’s eyes to him. “We need to go home and get some sleep. This isn’t helping anyone.”

And with that, Malcolm disappeared, walking briskly out of the office. Gil stared after him and watched him leave the precinct before turning to Dani and JT.

“I want you two here bright and early,” he said sternly, shaking a finger at them. “You better bring your A-game.”

Gil stormed out of the precinct, grabbing his jacket from his desk along the way without ever slowing his pace.

JT raised his brows and looked at Dani from the side of his eyes.

“Crazy times...right?” His tone was light, but Dani could tell that the conversation had got to him. He shuffled his feet in that way he only did when he was stressed.

“Why don’t you go home to your family,” Dani suggested with a kind smile. “I’ll lock up.”

“You sure? I don’t mind staying.” JT said despite the fact that he really would mind.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

As JT packed up and left, Dani grabbed a stack of files and sprawled out on the floor. Which is exactly where Gil found her the following morning.

“Dani?” Gil shouted in surprise, his voice rising with blatant confusion and concern. Dani started awake.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Mm-hm.”

Gil dropped his bag and his coat without taking his eyes off of her.

“Here,” he said, trying and failing to avoid stepping on any of the open files that surrounded her. “Let me help you up.”

She gladly accepted and was secretly happy to have him pull her to her feet. No one had done that since her dad died.

He put a fatherly hand on each of her shoulders and looked into her eyes with deep concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Let’s get to work-”

“No.” Gil said sternly. “I’m insisting that you give your eyes a break.”  
Dani sighed in frustration.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. Go home now. You can come back later if you want.”  
“Gil,” she practically growled, suddenly irrationally pissed off. “I’m going to help.”

“Not here you’re not!”

“Then send me on a lead!”

“We don’t have a lead!” Gil’s voice raised and he paused to breath for a moment before continuing in a much quieter voice.

“We don’t have a lead.”

Dani’s shoulders sagged helplessly and her stomach churned painfully.

“Okay, how about this - why don’t you go get lunch then? We’re all going to be starving soon and it will give you a break from all -”  
He gestured around at the mess of papers and files.

“-this. Your choice of lunch.”

“Okay!” Dani nodded enthusiastically. “I could also-”  
She abruptly cut herself off and stammered for a moment before finding her words.

“I, uh, also, there’s - I have to run an errand. This errand happens to be at a butcher shop.”

Gil furrowed his brows in confusion.

“So...sandwiches?” 

“Yeah.” Dani chuckled dryly.

“Okay,” Gil smiled and sat at his table. “Go pick out lunch, run your errand, give your eyes a break.”

Dani smiled curtly, but Gil stopped her again before she left. 

“Also, would you mind stopping by Malcolm’s place? I’m worried about him.”

“He hasn’t showed up yet?” Dani asked, her concern growing as well.

“No,” Gil said, a distinctive tiredness in his face. He looked older than he’d ever looked in the entire time Dani had known him.

“And he’s not answering his phone.”

“Okay,” Dani nodded seriously. “I’ll drop by his place on the way.”

And she did, but to no success.

“Malcolm,” she called from the other side of the door. “Malcolm, we don’t have to talk long. If you need space, I get it. But please just let us know that you’re okay.”

She was met with silence. She looked awkwardly down the hallway, suddenly paranoid that someone else was listening. 

Unsatisfied, she took out her phone and called Ainsley.

“Hey, Ains?”

“Hey!” Ainsley’s voice was light and friendly, which came as a surprise to Dani.

“Um, I was just wondering - have you heard from your brother today? He’s not answering his phone and he’s not at his apartment-”

“No.” She interjected, her voice dropping with a hushed seriousness. “I mean, - we spoke on the phone this morning.”

“Okay,” Dani said, relief relaxing though her gut still told her that something was wrong.

“Did he mention what he was doing today?”

“Not specifically. I think he’s just around, you know, doing stuff for the case. You know how it is.”

“Are you good?” Dani asked as naturally as possible as she shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “I mean, just with everything going on?”  
“Yeah, yeah! I mean, of course I’m - I’m torn up over Edrisa. But I’m trying to stay positive. I have faith in you guys!”

Dani smiled tightly.

“Yeah. So...we haven’t really talked about...the news.”

“Yes.” Ainsley’s voice was suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re the one who wanted to keep it a secret.”

“True, I was.”

Dani desperately tried to read Ainsley’s voice, but it was often difficult with her. She couldn’t stand the growing tension in this conversation, and yet, Ainsley seemed distracted.

“Yep.” Dani said awkwardly and cringed.

“Well, I’ve gotta go…” Ainsley said and Dani squeezed her eyes shut in agony.

“Okay. Me too. Bye.” She hung up too quickly and stood there, cringing, for a full minute afterwards. Yes, she would replay this conversation in her mind for days and feel worse about it each time.

Finally, she left. 

As she tried to hail a taxi, Dani tried to relax. It was just a conversation, who fucking cares? So what if she was awkward? On the other hand, she felt that the other girl would lose all respect for her and never talk to her again. Was Dani going crazy? She needed to shut up and stop overthinking it, she was on her way to fix another interaction that she had been overthinking for days.

The taxi came to a stop in a forgotten neighborhood on the outskirts of Brooklyn. 

“This it?” The cab driver asked, eyeing the small building. The storefront was stained and graffitied, the brush that lined either side of the door had become wildly overgrown. The place practically looked abandoned, save for the bold, lit-up red letters that read  **MIKE’S MEATS.**

Dani sucked her teeth and nodded.

“Yup.”

For what it was worth, the inside was a lot nicer than the outside. 

The smell of grease from the frier filled the air along with the smell of all kinds of meat. It was like a carnivore’s thanksgiving feast. The checkered floor and red walls reminded Dani of a pizzeria that she used to go to with her mom and dad on special occasions, and the memory of her dad hurt as she stood in a place she was ashamed to be in. Her father had always kept to himself, but he was also polite to everyone. He would be disappointed to see his daughter behave so blatantly rude.

She shuffled over to the big glass counter, where all of the meats were displayed. An unfamiliar man emerged, and asked with a friendly smile -

“Can I help you?”

“Uh…” Dani foolishly hadn’t considered that anyone else would be there. “I, um, I think I’m looking for Mike?”

The guy held out his hands in a theatrical gesture.

“You’re looking at him!”

“Oh,” her shoulders slouched in disappointment, and she swallowed hard.

“This is - this is odd, but, a few days ago I met a man on the street. I was sorta looking for him, I thought he worked here-”

“Tony!” Mike called.

“What?” Tony shouted back.

“Come ‘ere!”

“I’m busy!”

“There’s a lady here, says she knows you!”

Some footsteps followed, and emerged the man who had been so kind to her.

Mike jabbed a thumb in Tony’s direction.

“This your guy?”

Dani smiled tightly, rocking awkwardly on her feet.

“Yup.”  
Tony came over and placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you keep watch?”

“What’re they up to?”

Tony shrugged dramatically.

“I don’t fucking know. What’re they ever up to?”

Tony shuffled away to the back.

“Hey!” Tony smiled, and leaned his hands on the glass counter. “How can I help you?”

“Hey,” Dani grinned tightly and sucked air through her teeth. “Do you remember me?”

“‘Course I do! How are you feeling?”

Dani blushed and looked at the checkered floor.

“Better, yeah. Thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I know this might be a bit strange,” Dani laughed nervously. “But I just wanted to come here and apologize for the other day. It was a shitty day, but the way I acted was shit, and it’s no excuse-”

Tony held up his hands.

“Hey, hey. It’s no problem at all. We all have shitty days.”

Tony smiled shyly.

“You came all this way to apologize?”

Dani shuffled on her feet again, and jammed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “And to get lunch for my team. You got anything good here?”

Tony gestured to the glass counter in front of him.

“Okay!” she laughed, and squatted in front of the glass. “Um, maybe I’ll keep it simple.”

“So maybe...turkey, ham…? How big is your team?”

“There’s five of us-”

Her throat tightened suddenly, and she stood up very seriously.

“There’s four of us.”

Tony frowned slightly and tapped the glass rhythmically with his fingers.

“Everything okay?”

Dani sighed deeply.

“Yeah, sorry. One of our’s is missing, and...it’s just been a rough few days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tony said, the raw sincerity in his voice reminded her of Malcolm.

“No, sorry. Sorry to overshare. Um, there’s four on our team.”

Tony shook his head and waved a hand, gesturing that there was no need for an apology.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a detective with the NYPD.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“A detective!” he exclaimed.

She fought back a smile. After all these years, it still made her feel good that people were impressed by her job.

“Oh!” He said suddenly, glancing from Dani, to the back room, and back to Dani. “I have a case for you!”

Before she could reply, Tony hurried to the edge of the counter and pushed open the small, swinging door to let her back.

Dani shrugged and followed him to the back room.

Mike stood at the back window, his eyes trained on something outside.

“Anything?” Tony asked eagerly.

Mike shrugged.

“Nothing more than usual.”

“My friend here, uh-”

Tony looked at her.

“What’s your name?”  
“Dani.”

“ _ Dani _ , is a detective!”

Mike whipped around to face her.

“No way! You gotta check out these sketchy folks.”

Mike backed away from the window and Dani stepped forward, chuckling lightly at the odd butchers. But this lightness quickly faded as she looked outside.

The back window faced a lot that ended with a brick wall. In front of the wall stood Malcolm and Ainsley, clearly in some heated argument.

“They’ve been at this for hours,” Tony said. “Mike thinks it’s some sort of drug deal, but I think it’s more of a domestic conflict.”

Dani gritted her teeth, and huffed a sigh. She turned around to face the men.

“How many hours?”

“Have they been there?” Tony scratched his head and looked at Mike. “Before the sun was even up, I think.”

“Yeah,” Mike nodded. “It was as we were opening shop.”

Dani sighed in frustration and leaned against the wall.

“You okay?” Tony asked, taking a step forward. “Is it bad?”

Dani dropped her forehead into the palms of her hands, before looking up at Tony.

“Yeah, it’s bad. I’ll take care of it.” 

Dani spun around, and gripped the doorknob, but stopped - should she confront both of them then and there? It would give her the element of surprise, but the Whitleys had sharp minds, and it would be two against one. 

“Actually-” she said, taking a step back. “It would be a better idea to phone it in. In the meantime, there’s nothing to worry about. Just don’t go near them, and don’t let on that you or anyone else was watching.”

Tony and Mike looked to each other, and then nodded, muttering, “sure,” and “okay,” repeatedly.

“Now,” Dani smiled. “How about those sandwiches?”


	10. The New Chief

Martin Whitley’s mouth curled into a sly grin in a way that reminded Ainsley of  _ The Grinch. _ She curled her lip in revulsion and didn’t even try to hide it from her father.

“My girl!” he cried, holding his hands apart as far as they would go in cuffs. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Ainsley watched out of the corner of her eye as Mr. David left the room. The door clicked behind him, and Ainsley dropped her act, though Martin did not.

“I’m assuming you’ve heard?” She asked in a monotone voice.

“About what?” he asked in mock naivety, and only continued when she refused to reply.

“My daughter-in-law? Darling Edrisa?” he turned his mouth into a dramatic frown. “Oh, what terrible news!”

Ainsley eyed her father with a fierce coldness from under her brow, and he relaxed a bit seeing as she wasn’t playing his game.

“Was it you?” he asked, looking down and fidgeting in his handcuffs.

Ainsley raised a brow and tilted her head.

“She was onto us.”

Martin looked up at her again.

“Did you send the letters?”

“I did, but they didn’t work. This was an absolutely necessary measure.”

Martin smiled again and there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes now.

“Well, I did tell you to keep it in the family.”

He cackled loudly and shook his head.

“ _ My g-” _

“Yes, yes,” Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Your girl. Look, we need to discuss where to go from here. I’m not ‘killing Edrisa,’ so what’s the plan?”

Her father’s expression suddenly became very serious.

“Well, that depends. How’d you do it?”

“I drugged her.”

“Chloroform?”

Ainsley snorted.

“What do you take me for? And amateur?”

Martin smiled slightly again.

“Did she see your face?”

“This is insulting.”

“Does she know where she is?”

“Your idiot son wouldn’t think to look under the very house he grew up in.”

“In the very place he himself was kidnapped and taken to?”

Ainsley raised her brows and Martin grinned wickedly. 

“Well, you could let her go - but then we’d have to deal with her after.”

Martin began to pace his short allotted distance.

“You can keep here there indefinitely, but then you’d have to take care of her, and besides-”

Martin paused and looked at his daughter.

“-that’s inhumane.”

“So...you want to just kill her?”

Martin began pacing again, and made a show of internally debating the options. He moved his hands in a mock scale and tilted his head side to side.

“I mean, I don’t  _ want _ to-”

Ainsley took a step forward, so that the toes of her boots were right on the red line.

“If  _ I _ kill her, it’ll be  _ your boy _ who is fucked.”

“Yeah, well, he’s already fucked, isn’t he?”

Martin rushed up to the line until he was practically nose-to-nose with his daughter, staring her down. She didn’t flinch at his rapid approach, nor did she back down. Frustration, rage, and admiration bubbled up in Martin. How much easier to control was Malcolm, and how much Ainsley was like Martin himself.

He broke into a light laugh and backed away. Ainsley placed her hands on her hips, her expression never changed. Finally she rolled her eyes.

“Fuck it, I’ll figure it out myself.” She sighed. “How’s our friend Doug?”

“Aces. How’s our darling Cynthia?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

Martin cackled, and Ainsley couldn’t help but smile. It was all falling into place.

Doug Brooks sat on his Grandmother’s ugly floral couch and faced the three detectives in front of him. Who were cramped on the other couch, a green velvet sofa of equal size. Doug thought that, even though the other couch was of an outdated style, it was much nicer than the one he currently sat on. He despised the stained cream color of his Grandmother’s couch, the viney floral pattern. He hated the musky smell that waffed up from the cushions, that grew worse and worse over time like the stench of a dead body. He imagined what laid beneath the cushions, and though all of his theories were impractical, he shot up out of his seat in revulsion. 

The three detectives looked up at him, startled, and he quickly recovered.

“Would anyone like a beverage?” he clasped his hands together as JT rolled his eyes and Malcolm looked increasingly concerned. “Uh, coffee? Perhaps?”

“That’s the third time you’ve asked us if we’d like coffee,” Malcolm said gently and looked him in the eye with kind eyes. “Are you alright?”

Malcolm’s knee was touching JT’s leg, and he pushed him away, wriggling uncomfortably between Malcolm and the arm of the couch. 

“I’m fine,” Doug laughed a bit too loud, and Dani raised her eyebrows. “Just nervous, I suppose.”

Then suddenly, he realized his mistake and added loudly-

“-NOT that I have anything to be nervous about. It-it’s just-”

Malcolm held up the palms of his hands to Doug and shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he smiled politely. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. But we’re just here to ask a few questions, that’s all.”

“Right.” Doug attempted a smile but just bared his teeth. JT glared up at him skeptically from beneath his brow, as he tried to push Malcolm away again. 

Dani leaned forward, and put her hands on her knees. 

“I’ll take a coffee now, if you don’t mind.”

“Me too.” Malcolm piped.

Doug put on a more convincing smile now and turned to JT.

“I’m good.” he grumbled without taking his judgy eyes off of Doug. 

Once Doug exited the living room, and the kitchen door swung shut behind him, JT sat up so abruptly, Malcolm was nearly knocked into Dani’s lap. Dani grabbed at the arm of the couch painfully and let out a grunt of protest.

“Hey!” she cried. “Watch it!”

“You two better not drink that coffee.” JT hissed, leaning in. “This guy’s probably laced it with rat poison or some shit!”

“Oh yes,” Dani whispered harshly back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s our plan. That seemed like a good thing to do!”

“Mommy, Daddy, stop fighting!” Malcolm said in a normal voice, which was a bit too loud for the detectives’ liking. JT and Dani leaned back to check the door, giving Malcolm the opportunity to wriggle out from between them and hop over to the other couch.

“Malcolm!” Dani whisper-yelled. “Get back over here!”

“Malcolm,” JT growled under his breath. “Don’t ever call me Daddy again!”

Malcolm carefully lifted both couch cushions and looked underneath. There was nothing. Not even dust. The naked couch looked spotless. 

Doug emerged from the kitchen, holding two cups of coffee. He froze when he saw Malcolm leaning over the floral couch. His grandmother’s couch. 

“Oh, hey,” Malcolm said casually, as Dani gave him crazy eyes and JT motioned him to sit back down.

“Hey…” Doug slowly crossed over and placed the mugs on the coffee table. Dani accepted hers, and nervously laughed into her cup.

“I was just stretching my limbs, you know, that couch is a bit crowded.”

Malcolm began doing lunges to illustrate his point, and JT dropped his forehead into the palms of his hands.

Malcolm stopped abruptly and stood up straight, pointing to the floral couch.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Doug looked at the floral couch. His grandmother’s couch. 

“I-” he stuttered. “Isn’t this a bit unprofessional?”

“Yes!” JT whispered, but Dani elbowed him to quiet him.

“Again,” Malcolm smiled. “This is very casual.”

“Uh,” Doug scratched his neck vigorously. “I - I don’t see why not.”

“Great!” Malcolm exclaimed and sat back on the floral couch. Doug reluctantly sat next to him.

“So, uh,” JT began, looking hesitantly at Dani before turning to Doug. “We understand that your relationship with Ms. Thomas was romantic. How long were you two together?”

“Well, um, it would’ve been coming up on two years now.”

“Dani raised her brows.

“Would’ve been?”  
“Or, uh, you know. _Is._ ”  
Dani and JT exchanged a glance before returning to Doug. 

“Mr. Brooks,” JT leaned forward, eyeing Malcolm in disbelief as he took a sip of the coffee. “Um….are you employed?”

“Yes, uh, I’m head of security at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital.”  
Malcolm choked on his coffee, and Doug whipped around to face him.

“Are you okay?” Doug placed an emphasis on every word, his eyes narrowed. 

Malcolm nodded.

“Oh yeah. Just, uh, too hot is all.”

“How long have you been head of security?” JT asked without skipping a beat.

“Oh, uh...a little over a year and a half. I got the job through Cynthia.”

The room got quiet, and suddenly felt cold. Malcolm eyed the floral pattern on the couch and tried to slow his breathing. 

_ What an UGLY pattern,  _ he thought.

“Do you mind elaborating on that?”

Doug furrowed his eyebrows and looked from JT, to Dani, to Malcolm, who held his coffee in one hand and fidgeted with the edge of the cushion with the other. Doug was aware now that he had said something wrong, and tried to maintain a relaxed appearance.

“Cynthia’s father was head of security for years. When he moved up the ladder, he recommended me for the position.”  
“Cynthia’s father was an abusive alcoholic who's spent the past ten years in prison.” Dani said quickly.

“Oh yes,” Doug cleared his throat. His heart was pounding now, but he was determined not to let on. “I should clarify, - not Cynthia’s biological father. Adrien was a family friend who took Cynthia in after her father was arrested.”

“Oh.” JT replied, unsurely. “I see.”

Just then, Malcolm clearly tipped his mug and spilled coffee in the space between the cushions. Doug whipped around to face him, furious. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” Doug screamed suddenly, causing Dani to jump and Malcolm to flinch back. Doug shot out of his seat and towered over Malcolm with an unsteady fury.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Doug lunged at Malcolm, but JT was on his feet in seconds, fingers wrapping around his gun. JT stepped between a screaming Doug and began to talk him down, but Dani held back a bit and looked at Malcolm.

“GET OUT!” Doug was shouting, his voice wrung with hysteria.

“Malcolm, let’s go.” JT growled, practically dragging the consultant behind him. Dani shot out of her seat and went to shake Doug’s hand.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Brooks.” 

Doug bared his teeth like an animal, and Dani decided to wave instead.

“What the fuck was that?” JT demanded as he closed the door behind him. 

“It was an accident.” Malcolm shrugged as he headed for the car. 

Dani rushed up to him and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to spin around.

“That was not an accident!” She hissed, staring the consultant down.

Malcolm looked at her in surprise and something else...something resembling pride, or admiration.

“Where were you this morning?” She asked, squinting at Malcolm.

“I was working on the case!”

“Where?”

“At my apartment!”

“Guys!” JT cut in, opening the driver’s door. “Let’s not do this here, alright?”

“So you’re telling me,” Dani continued, forcing Malcolm to look at her. “That you were at your apartment the entire morning?”

Malcolm stared her in the eye and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

“Yes.” He said softly. Dani held his gaze and suddenly felt the urge to cry, but couldn’t place why.

“Why are you lying to me?” She whispered, biting back her tears. “If you’re in some sort of trouble, tell us. You know we’ll help you.”

Malcolm’s face softened and he studied her face. She could see tears gathering in his eyes, too. He looked down and swallowed hard.

“ _ Now _ !” JT commanded, grabbing Malcolm’s shoulder harshly, and pushing him into the backseat of the police car. Dani reluctantly went around and sat in the passenger’s seat. On the ride back to the precinct, Dani couldn’t help but check the rearview mirror. She could see Malcolm, who stared absentmindedly out the window. 

_ What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Malcolm Bright?  _ She wondered.  _ What have you done? _


	11. All is Lost

The morning before they found Cynthia’s body wasn’t extraordinary by any means - Gil had bought bagels for the team, and everyone poured over the open files looking for a lead. It was quiet, but in a comforting way. The team all knew that they were all there for each other, and even JT gave Malcolm a tiny smile. Malcolm appeared to be in an almost translucent state from lack of sleep, his tired eyes revealing the pain, grief, and love he’d felt over the past four days. He looked at Dani with that old sincerity, and it made her heart ache in a good way. In the way that made her fall in love with him. She looked away and he gave a soft smile, the sunken, grey skin around his eyes wrinkling and grinning. 

There was nothing extraordinary about this morning, but Dani would hold onto the memory of it dearly for years to come. It was the last hurrah of peace, a token to remind her of what she’d had and what she’d lost. She would look back on the moment many times and wish she had realized how important the team was to her. Of course she’d always considered them to be family, but the weight of this didn’t sink in until all was lost. 

Shortly after, Gil got the call that they’d found Cynthia’s body. And Cynthia’s body was sent to a strange lab because Edrisa was missing. And the lab, an impartial party, was just doing their job, and doing it honestly. So when they found Malcolm’s DNA under her fingernails, they reported it like they always do. And as Dani and JT were sent to arrest him for alleged murder for the second time, and as he sobbed realizing that there was too much evidence stacked against him this time, all Dani could think about was that morning. The bagels Gil bought for the team, the quiet solidarity, the heart-wrenching tenderness in the look he’d exchanged with Dani. 

As Dani helped Malcolm into the back of the police car, he looked at her once again. His eyes were pleading. His bottom lip trembled. He looked up at her and the  _ why?  _ that lingered on his lips was the same one she was asking herself and the one he already knew the answer to. It was the job. It was always the job first. She was just following orders.

Dani sunk into the passenger’s seat and looked at Malcolm in the rear-view mirror. He stared vacantly at the back of the driver’s seat. When he met Dani’s eyes in the mirror, they were no longer pleading or desperate. There wasn’t defiance or even acceptance or rejection. There was nothing, nothing at all. Malcolm Bright had finally broken, and all that was left in his place was an obedient void of a man, one who knew that all was lost. 

Dani turned to the window and began to cry quietly. She wiped at her tears hastily as JT stared at the road and pretended not to notice. She thought of the fiery coolness in Ainsley’s eyes that fueled her ambition, and the soft sincerity in Malcolm’s that held his empathy. And Dani knew that it was possible to love two people at once, because she knew then that she loved both Ainsley and Malcolm. Both Whitleys. Fierce passion, warm kindness. Tragic stories.

After Malcolm was arrested, it was easy to help Martin escape. As head of security, Doug decided to take night-watch of Martin’s wing of the hospital. He simply escorted Dr. Whitley off of the premises, and no one was around to suspect him or see him. None of the guards who worked for Doug would suspect him, and if they did, they’d report to Adrien.

Adrien knew that Martin and his daughter had kidnapped Cynthia. He agreed with the plan in hopes that he’d finally get his daughter back. By the time he discovered he never would, Martin was long gone.

“What are we going to do?” Doug cried once he heard that Cynthia was dead.

“Nothing.” Replied Adrien cooly. “Nothing at all.”  
“We have to report him.”

“And how do we do that without letting everyone know that we were in on it, huh? We’ll get more jail time than Malcolm.”

“He can’t get away with this!” Doug cried, staring at the crooked tiles on Adrien’s floor.

Adrien took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled, his shoulders slouching in defeat.

“He already has.”


	12. Dead Ends

Dani looked at JT in horror. 

“Surely you don’t believe that Malcolm did this?”

“Yeah Dani,” JT looked at her with an anger she’d never seen before. “Actually I do. The first time - sure, I believed he was framed. This happens a second time with a completely different suspect? Nah, this isn’t a coincidence.”

“I can’t believe you!” Dani snapped, suddenly enraged. “Malcolm is our friend, he’s family! Who are you?”

JT looked at Dani sadly, before he sighed and leaned his hands on the table.

“Not NYPD, not anymore. I handed in my two weeks notice.”  
For a moment, all Dani could do was stare. JT, who was fiercely loyal to the force and his friends, was throwing in the towel. Dani tried to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, JT looked at her. He looked tired, bone-tired. Like he hadn’t slept in a hundred years.

“How could you?” Was all she could manage.

“I’m sorry.” He said, because there was nothing else he could really say.

Then he left, and Dani Powell was left alone in the big empty room that had held the team just that morning. 

Suddenly, she stormed to Gil’s office.

“ _ Gil!”  _ She exclaimed, a disturbing mix of excitement and desperation in her unsteady voice. “I’ve figured it out!”

Gil had his face in the palms of his hands, and his elbows on his desk. He looked up as she spoke, his eyes red and puffed. 

“What?” He asked, distracted.

“Gil,” Dani took a step forward, and frantically shook her hands. “I think it’s Ainsley!”

Gil looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head.

“No, hear me out! I told Ainsley about Cynthia before any of this began. She’s been weirdly unattached-”

“-Dani-”  
“-Her and Malcolm were meeting up behind a butcher shop in Brooklyn-”

“Dani-”

“No, listen, her and Malcolm were talking in secret-”  
“ _Dani!”_

_ “What?” _

Gil shook his head sadly.

“Give it a rest.”

Dani stood there, feeling uncomfortably self-conscious, and fought back tears.

“Gil, you’re not listening…”

“No, you’re not listening! Ainsley? Really?”

Dani bit her lip and looked down at Gil with such disdain, he suppressed a shudder.

“So you’re just giving up, too?” Dani snarled. “You think Malcolm did this too?”  
“No, no.” Gil said sternly. “No I don’t. But all the evidence goes against him, I just don’t know what we can do.”

“We can’t give up.”

“We’re not going to!”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me about Ainsley?”

Gil slammed his fist onto his desk and glared at Dani where she stood.

“Goddamnit, it’s not Ainsley! Because she dared to speak with her brother in a Brooklyn parking lot? I’m as sure Ainsley didn’t do it as I’m sure that Malcolm didn’t.”

Dani whipped around and stormed out of the office. Gil called after her, but she didn’t stop. She hurried down the street, and shouldered passerbyers out of the way as she headed to the studio.

Ainsley was packing up as Dani burst through the doors.

“Ainsley Whitley? Have you seen her? Where can I find her?” Dani was asking anyone who would listen. Ainsley threw open the door to the back hall, and motioned Dani. The detective approached her with her head bowed and her eyes trained on Ainsley.

_ Fuck. _ She thought, but put on a smile.

“Dani!” Ainsley ran to kiss Dani and was startled when the other woman pushed her out of the way and headed for the back hall. Ainsley cast a nervous glance at her onlooking colleagues before following Dani. 

“Okay, okay.” Ainsley pushed Dani into the first room on the right. “What the fuck?”

“I know you’re behind this.” The detective raised her chin.

Ainsley made an overexaggerated attempt at shock.

“ _What?”_ She giggled. “I’m not-”  
“For fuck’s sake Ainsley!” Dani shouted. “I didn’t even say what _this_ is!”

Ainsley grimaced and stared at Dani flatly. There was no point in acting innocent, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.

Dani swallowed hard and took a small step forward. Ainsley was very aware of the closing distance between them and smiled slightly.

“All I’m asking,” Dani said softly but sternly. “Is to  _ please  _ let Edrisa go.”

Ainsley scoffed.

“What makes you think-”  
“ _Don’t.”_

Ainlsey rolled her eyes.

“I’m coming for you,” Dani spat. “ _ Bitch.”  _

And with that, Dani stormed out. Ainsley looked after her with a combination of fury, admiration, and awe. 

“Is...everything okay?” Jill raised a brow skeptically.

Ainsley smiled sweetly.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go home.”  
Jill squinted, but then shrugged.

“Okay, have a good night.”

At her apartment, Ainsley hastily locked the door behind her. She threw down her bag and pulled out her laptop. Quickly, she began to write.


	13. Providence

Edrisa woke up in a hotel room with nothing except the clothes on her back and a small green purse that didn’t belong to her. Not sure what else to do, Edrisa cautiously dumped the contents of the purse onto her bed. The following was included: a small bag of chips, toothpaste, her glasses, a stack of bills rubber-banded together, a plane ticket (to Edinburgh Scotland), and a letter. The letter read as follows:

_ Dear Edrisa, _

_ I pray that this letter finds you in good health. I know you’re confused about what’s happened, but let me ease your mind a bit - this is a good thing. I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband has- _

Ainsley chewed the end of her pen as she wrote this part. If Edrisa knew that Malcolm was in prison, she’d try to prove his innocence, which means she’d come back. There was only one answer, and Ainsley prayed that it was convincing enough.

- _ passed away. He was working on a case, and he was murdered. It was quick and painless. _

Edrisa put down the letter and cupped her face in her hands. Tears began to gather in her eyes as she stared vacantly at the wall. It wasn’t difficult to believe, she had known it was coming at some point. Malcolm had never been careful enough for his line of work. He talked killers down from ledges, he chased the bad guys without backup, he investigated by himself at night. His work was his addiction, and each case was another hit. It was always coming…

She picked the letter up again with shaky hands.

_ Please don’t look into it, you need to stay as far away as possible. Martin Whitley has escaped Claremont Psychiatric and he’s coming after you. You know first hand how dangerous and ruthless that man is. Which is why I’ve enclosed a ticket to Edinburgh. There’s a guy who’ll meet you at the airport, and who’ll help you adapt to your new life. _

_ I know that this is a lot, Edrisa, but it’s the only way you’ll survive. This is your chance to escape the madness of your life, the madness of the Whitleys. This is your second chance. I hope you’ll take it. _

The letter wasn’t signed, and it was probably better that way. Later in her life, Edrisa would look back on the moment with consuming guilt. She’d tell herself that she looked at the phone for a while, and debated picking it up. One phone call would take her back to her old life, one phone call to Gil, to Ainsley, to Malcolm, would’ve ensured her return to New York.

But in reality, Edrisa hardly considered it.

She gathered the contents back into the purse, and left.

Once she was outside, she realized that she was totally unfamiliar with her surroundings. She hailed a taxi.

“Where to ma’am?” The driver asked casually, as Edrisa eagerly leaned over the seat.

“Um, the airport?”

The driver shrugged and gave her a friendly smile.

“Take your pick.”  
“Um…” Edrisa leaned back and dug her ticket out with unsteady hands. “T.F. Green?”

“Sounds good,” the driver pulled away from the hotel slowly and turned the radio on low. 

“Um,” Edrisa stammered, leaning forward. “This is a bit of an odd question, but - where are we?”

The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror for a moment, before replying.

“Providence, the one and only.”

“Rhode Island?”

“Yep.”

Edrisa scoffed in disbelief, as the driver’s eyes flickered to her again.

“Rough night?” he smirked.

Edrisa laughed, distracted.

“Something like that.”  
As the driver weaved through the city streets, Edrisa pulled out the bag of chips and the letter. She read the letter quickly again, and then turned it over. On the blank page, she began to write. 

_ Dear E, _

_ I wanted to write to you forever, but I don’t see how I’ll be able to moving forward. I’m not leaving you behind, I could never forget you. But things are moving fast and I’m no longer who I said I was. I’ve felt your beauty inside me, and it was the greatest time of my life. I’ll always wish that you got the life you so deserve. But these days, I find myself worrying if what happened was for the best. There was no life where we were to raise you, there was no safety, relief, security, joy. The world is a cruel place, or at least, my world was. I think I can finally see that, now. I just wish I saw it sooner... _


End file.
